


Miscreation

by Oienel



Series: Monster [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Terror, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 19:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11538963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: God have listened to their prayers, they will live to see another day - but they can't even wait that long.





	Miscreation

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write porn for Monster, but I couldn't fit it in the story, so it's in the same universum, but not really connected to the plot.

Your heart is beating madly in your chest. You could swear that its beat is perfectly audible in the air, and so is the heavy breathing. Jongdae’s breath is fanning your face, his chest pushing into yours with every desperate inhale he takes. You try to calm yourself, your body, fighting with the dizziness overwhelming your mind. You can see the black patches in the corners of your eyes, it’s your vision failing you.

Your hand is clenching on Jongdae’s arm like a vice. He doesn’t react, his body flush against yours. It’s uncomfortable, but you won’t nag, you won’t say a word.  His fist is next to your head, blocking your vision.

Except for his breathing, he is calm and still. You don’t know how long it takes before he breathes out a long exhale, and you feel yourself relaxing as well. He looks down at you, and you sense his movement so you look up at him. Your head drags on the hard surface behind your back and the first thing you see is a small smile pulling at his lips.

That’s when you hear it.

The sound that you were waiting for, the sound you were escaping from. Suddenly your body goes rigid, and your calmed breath takes up its pace. Jongdae crowds you against the wall, as if trying to meld into it. You feel his heart beating, you can sense his terror.

Which only doubles yours.

The ruckus of numerous feet, orders barked in this repulsing language and your blood pulsing in your ears, are your background music. You cannot see anything, Jongdae’s shoulders blocking your view, but you can feel them, and you can feel the disarming fear eating you from the inside.

You are crying. Silently, but the tears are flowing down your face. You cry now, so you won’t cry when they catch you. You cry over Jongdae, over your Homeland, over people you’ll leave here, over the people you could sell in the amok. You know you’ll fight with all your might to protect every single one of them.

Jongdae is the only one you can’t protect anymore.

You don’t cry over your life. You knew the risks, and you’d choose this way again.

_How much will it hurt. How long will you survive._

You don’t keep your eyes open, you just try to engrave his body into your memory. You’ll make his smile into your life buoy. Your mind will call this image every time you’ll tatter at the edge.

There is a soft touch on top of your head and you know that’s his lips. They are moving against your scalp, and you know that Jongdae is praying. You know that he is calling his God for help, and you know, that he doesn’t call Him for himself. He is praying for you, for your Country, for its citizens.

Tendons in your neck are hurting from the strain of holding the sounds back. The tears are no longer flowing, they start to dry on your face, as you become reconciled with the thought that your life is ending. You’ll maybe live many days from today, but you won’t be alive.

But the militia is not coming.

You don’t hear them anymore. Jongdae’s mouth are still tickling your scalp, but you try to focus on your surroundings.

You can hear the sound of wind blowing in the streets, you can hear the water flowing in the pipes in the wall behind you, you can hear the soft sounds of the city. You turn your head to the side, you try to look down the pass between the two houses. On its end you can see the dumpster that has probably shielded you from the eyes of your chasers.

Your heart starts to cling to the new hope, but your mind tries to strangle it. You cannot let yourself relax, you know that any mistake will cost you and Jongdae your lives. The part of the street you see, is calm. You can see pedestrians. You nearly start crying again, if you can see pedestrians, there is no militia outside. No one would risk meeting them.

You look up and you see Jongdae’s eyes growing larger, his lips stilling in the prayer. He is horrified and you start crying.

“He has listened to you.” You say quietly, your voice breaking with the wail threatening to escape. “He has listened to you. They are gone.”

It takes him a while before he understands your words. He also looks to the entrance of the narrow pass you are in. It’s only wide enough for you to stand in, close and intimate, your back on the wall, his back on the other one.

_God spared you today. You’ll live one more day._

Suddenly he picks you up.

_You’ll live one more day._

Your clothes catch on the bricks on the wall behind you, your head bangs into it, but you won’t say a word. Your hands find his neck to stabilize yourself, your legs coming up – you try to hook them behind him, but there is not enough space, so you settle with your knees on the other wall, your feet resting on the bricks, your thighs squeezing his waist.

You look down, you absorb his face, feeling the stab in your heart with every bruise, with every abrasion. He was protecting you. The cracked eyebrow? He took the fist that should collide with your own face. The abrasion on his jaw? It’s a shadow of black baton. Blood on his chin? Memory of the pavement.

_But you’ll live one more day._

The kiss you share is desperate, it’s asking whether it’s true. If it’s true that you are still alive and free. Your tears are falling once again, but you answer every swipe, every bite on your lips.

_You are alive. You are here._

You are not surprised to see that his eyes are wet when you break the kiss to breathe. You rest your forehead on his, and your eyes search his own. The tears are catching on his long eyelashes, but neither of you will judge that.

_You are still together._

Here tears are natural, it’s a cleanse, your body pushing out the terror you felt a moment ago. And now you need a proof that you are alive.

Your hands come up to his jaw, your thumbs on his cheeks. You swipe them across his face, their tips catching on the maltreated skin. But he doesn’t flinch, he is staring into your eyes.

You cannot take this and you kiss him. It’s your time to ask, but he answers without a hesitation.

_You are alive, you are free, you are together._

You roll up your skirt, your knees bruising on the wall, but you don’t care. You smash your elbow into the wall behind you in the process, but you don’t even notice that. Neither does Jongdae, working on his trousers, a herculean effort, with your legs still on his waist.

But being faced with such a task, after successfully escaping your oppressors, it’s nothing.

The moment he slides into you, you feel more alive than ever. You don’t have enough space, you can’t find leverage, your back is suffering with every thrust, your skin bruising on the bricks behind your back, your knees are getting abrasions from the friction.

Jongdae is staring intently at your face, his breath fanning your neck and jaw. It’s intimate.

_You are alive, you are free, you are in his embrace._

Your nails sink in his nape and the side of his neck, and he grunts in answer. You are strangely quiet, you can’t find the voice in you. You’ve learned to be quiet, every one of your compatriots build up that skill.

Your chest is heaving, your muscles contracting, and your ears are filled with the sound of your blood. It blocks out the sounds of the streets, the sounds of the city.

You can see that Jongdae’s lips are moving, but you don’t hear him. Is he coaxing you? Is he praying? Is he giving his thanks?

_You are alive, you are free, you are in his arms._

Your back goes rigid, as you feel the jolt of pleasure hitting your body, flowing through your arteries, reaching every last nook of your body, your head hits the wall, bump growing. It’s disarming, it’s paralyzing. But even as it hits you, you don’t stop looking at him, looking at his face.

There, on the street, in the city tormented by despots, in the Country dying under wrongful rule, you find your freedom.

 


End file.
